


my sun, my moon, my stars

by ravenslight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alchemy, Astronomy, Character Death, F/M, Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, Past Character Death, Poetry, Quotations, Slughooch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: Among the stars. That was where Rolanda had always assumed she would find the answers she was searching for. However, along with answers, those very same stars led her to the one person she'd never expected.“losing through you what seemed myself, I findselves unimaginably mine; beyondsorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears"~e.e. cummings
Relationships: Rolanda Hooch/Horace Slughorn
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19
Collections: Astronomy: 2020 Round Three





	my sun, my moon, my stars

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [TheSlytherinCabal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlytherinCabal/pseuds/TheSlytherinCabal) in the [DBQ2020Round3](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2020Round3) collection. 



> Written for the third round of The Slytherin Cabal's 2020 Death by Quill competition. My chosen pairing was Rolanda Hooch/Horace Slughorn and the prompt was Transfiguration. Thank you to In_Dreams for her incredible alpha/beta work throughout this whole competition, as, without her, I'd have been entirely lost. (Originally posted May 22nd, 2020)
> 
> Received 2nd Place in Round 3: Astronomy  
> Admin's Choice - Kimberly

Of all the ways Rolanda had envisioned death, she'd never imagined this.

Acrid smoke burned in her nostrils, spellfire arcing through the sky alongside the Astronomy Tower.

At least the grass beneath her legs was soft.

At least she could gaze into his eyes in the shadow of their beginning. That endless, emerald gaze which comforted her in a way no other could. His booming voice recited quietly above her, fingers working through her blood-soaked locks. “Rest, my love. Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born.”

* * *

Two paragraphs remained in the book before Rolanda when Professor Helias called the class to attention. 

Starlight twinkled in the night sky behind the professor. “Welcome to your final term at Hogwarts. I trust your holiday was enjoyable.” With a grand flourish, she charmed the sconces along the Astronomy Tower to life. “Much like years past, astronomy remains based in theory and observation; no formal magic will be taught within this tower. Instead, I have paired you with whom I believe you will work best for a research project.”

Moans of general discontent filtered through the air, but Rolanda paid them no mind, hanging on the words of her favourite professor.

Perhaps it was unconventional to adore Astronomy, but the legends of the sky drew Rolanda in much like the rush of the wind through her hair as she flew over the Quidditch field. As though the more she learned, the closer she could climb to the heavens and nestle herself at home amongst the stardust that enamoured her so. 

“By the end of the class, you and your partner should define a topic of research for the remainder of the term; I will expect an oral presentation to accompany an essay no shorter than six feet of parchment.” Professor Helias spoke over additional complaints. “You will find your assigned partner alongside the telescope at which you will work for the remainder of the year.”

A spring in her step, Rolanda flit through the room, gaze tracing lovingly over myriad instruments until she found the one above which her name shimmered in golden script. 

Her step only faltered for a moment when she saw the name accompanying it.

Horace Slughorn. Something of a legend in his house for his propensity for potions, she admired the tenacity with which he approached education, even if it appeared boastful and abrasive. 

The history between their families was a bitter reminder to stay away from the boy with golden hair and an easy grin.

Rolanda forced a smile to her face as he swaggered towards her, shoulders back and broad chest leading the way before him. “Rolanda!” he boomed, unnecessarily loud for the space, and she uncharitably wondered whether it was practice for a political career. “Lucky I get to muddle my way through this with the smartest Ravenclaw in the room.”

Reminding herself not to roll her eyes as she returned his smile, she carefully arranged her textbooks on the tabletop next to her. “Pleasure,” she murmured, turning to peer through the telescope into the starlight illuminating the canopy of the Forbidden Forest. “Do you have any suggestions for a topic?”

Horace settled next to her, his hip brushing her own as he discarded his rucksack on the chair. “Whatever you’re interested in will suffice.” 

The starlight came into sharp focus through the eyepiece as she tinkered with the dials, considering her response before she pulled away and flickered her gaze towards him. “What do you know of alchemy?”

“Not much other than that it’s supposed to help one attain immortality.” His chair scraped across the floor, thick fingers wrapping around the lens and pulling it towards him. “It’s rubbish.”

Immediately, her hackles rose. “It’s not. Nicolas Flamel is living proof.” She sniffed, rearranging her quill and parchment again. “Alchemy is the art of liberating parts of the cosmos from temporal existence and achieving perfection,” she quoted, tracking Jupiter’s ascent on her star chart. “For man, longevity and, ultimately, immortality is perfection. Therefore, astronomy is foundational to the study of alchemy and achieving the ends of human knowledge. Avoiding death.”

Slughorn leaned back, ticking an eyebrow up at her. “Do you remember much about her?” 

Chills tap dancing across her spine, Rolanda busied herself with making inconsequential notes on her parchment. Grief stole her voice for a moment. “Everything,” she gasped, tears misting her vision. “But I’ve long since given up the hope that I can miraculously bring her back—and besides, alchemy doesn’t work like that.”

Understanding shone in the depths of his eyes, perhaps the first time she’d seen recognisable emotion from him. “When you lose someone, it’s not unreasonable to search the cosmos for an answer to your pain.”

Flinching, a deep flush bloomed over her chest, and Rolanda closed her eyes, praying to Merlin the moment would pass and the tears that threatened wouldn’t fall. 

When she opened them again, Slughorn was still watching her, the planes of his face shadowed in the cast of the sconces. After a moment, he nodded once, a short, sharp movement. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “about your sister.” 

A split second of angry heat burned through her again, eyes fixed on the stars above them, but she took the olive branch he offered. “So am I.” 

* * *

“In classical antiquity, the seven planets visible to the naked eye held dominion over certain metals.” Rolanda traced her fingers over the star chart. “The moon ruled silver. Mercury held mastery over quicksilver, and Venus ruled copper.” She felt the warmth of his gaze trace over her fingertips as she completed the list. “Mars ruled iron, Jupiter ruled tin, and Saturn held dominion over lead.” Slowing to a stop, she caressed the largest star. “And the sun ruled gold.” 

The Slughorn who showed up and eagerly participated in their research was not the one she had expected.

Part of her was rattled entirely, her heart fragile in its hope that perhaps he was more than he allowed others to see. No one had ever looked at her with that much understanding, as though he was intimately familiar with the certain brand of pain she felt as keenly as blades lodged in her breastbone. 

But there he was, sitting before her without a shred of the self-important aura he wore like a shield, and she found herself inexplicably drawn to him.

His expression was lost in thought as he followed the lines of the chart. “And these are associated with human life in what way?” he asked, looking up from the parchment.

“Some say each moving planet rules over a vital organ.” Her fingers danced over the parchment, lingering on the sun. “And though it’s not technically a planet, astronomers and alchemists alike say the sun is most important—from which all life springs, it rules over the heart.” An incredulous breath stuttered out of her when his fingertips traced over her knuckles, the feather-light touch sending goosebumps rioting over the surface of her skin. 

“You remind me of the sun,” he murmured, voice rumbling through her.

No, she hadn’t expected Slughorn to strip her bare during their first study session.

A bead of sticky sweat gathered on the small of her back as she bent over the parchment, but Rolanda couldn’t break the spell he’d put her under long enough to brush it away. Not when he was looking at her as though he actually saw her. Heart pounding in her ears, she challenged, “What do you mean?”

“Luminous. I’ve always wondered how you did it—seemed to shine from within,” he answered, fingers flexing. “And you don’t seem to notice it.” A laugh rumbled deep in his chest, the sound warm and inviting. “Everyone around you does, but you’ve got your books and Quidditch. It’s a wonder you’ve come down off your Silver Arrow long enough to grace me with your presence.”

Discomposed, Rolanda pulled away, incredibly aware of her nervous habit as she rearranged her books. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Slughorn huffed a self-deprecating laugh. “My house is convinced that you think yourself better than the lot of us.”

Rolanda tipped her head, studying him. He’d carefully left himself out of the statement. “And what do you think?”

A well of sorrow and self-loathing reflected deep in his expression. “I recognised it—the pain you wear like a shield.” He withdrew his hands, carefully folding them together in his lap. “I lost my parents in second year.” Tipping his head back up at her, he added, “It’s been a while; I don’t tell you to elicit pity. I just wanted you to know I understand.” 

Chills raced along her spine, the light of the moon dancing up her flesh in a seductive crawl. And through it all, her gaze stayed locked on his. “I don’t pity you—far from it. Thank you for telling me.” Emotion clawed at her lungs, and Rolanda cleared her throat, casting about for a subject change. “What were you able to find in your research?”

Horace's face fell carefully blank, and he flipped a book open, scanning through a passage. “According to Augustyn, the process by which it was hoped common metals could be turned into valuable metals involved heating the base material in a characteristic pear-shaped glass crucible called the Vase of Hermes.”

“Which was also called the Philosopher’s Egg,” Rolanda mused, “in which Nicolas Flamel perfected the Philosopher’s Stone in the fourteenth century.” 

“But we don’t know how.” He eyed her overtop the book with a cocked brow. “And you’re sure Professor Helias will accept this project? We don’t even have a working thesis.” 

Finally, she allowed a trickle of warmth to bloom in her stomach, anticipation rioting through her. “Yet. We don’t have a thesis _yet._ ”

* * *

Late evening air whipped around Rolanda, lifting her hair from her shoulders as she rocketed over the field on her broomstick. She felt lighter than she had in ages.

Somewhere below her, Slughorn reclined on a worn blanket. Whether or not he watched her, she wasn’t sure, but his presence was a calming balm to her soul. They’d long stopped using the astronomy project as an excuse to spend time together.

Family history be damned—she liked him.

The wind shifted around her, blowing in a cool breeze off the Black Lake, and Rolanda aimed her broom towards the ground, descending in lazy arcs. When she landed before him, he smiled up at her, extending his palm.

“You looked so peaceful up there.” His hand was warm in hers as he helped her settle on the blanket, placing his book aside. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Avoiding the question, she nodded at the book. “What are you reading?” 

His cheeks flushed as he tucked it beneath him. “Nothing.” He cringed then admitted, “Poetry.”

“Read me some?

Lips lifting in a self-conscious smile, he summoned the book. “Silently if, out of not knowable / night’s utmost nothing, wanders a little guess / (only which is this world) more of my life does / not leap than with the mystery your smile.” He paused, peeking up at her. “E.E. Cummings.”

Rolanda tucked herself against his side, unable to meet his eyes for the emotions swirling in her as she stared up at the stars shining through the golden hue of the dying sunset. “I believe there’s a specific astronomical occurrence that would, theoretically, allow for the most successful attempt at the Elixer of Life.” Pulling her wand from her pocket, she waved it lazily towards her rucksack, summoning the book she’d checked out from the Restricted Section. “Nicolas Flamel mentioned it in _Livre des figures hiéroglyphiques_ , but I wasn’t able to achieve a full translation.”

The pages flipped open on the breeze, settling open on the script as Horace laughed, pressing a light kiss to her temple. “And you didn’t think to use a translation charm?”

A blush seared up her cheeks. “No, I wanted to do it myself. I’m learning. Poorly,” she allowed with a chuckle, but she quickly grew serious again. “We’ve already defined that there are three states for alchemy to successfully turn material to gold.”

Horace nodded. “The black stage, indicating the death of the old material preparatory to its revitalization; the white, required for transmutation into silver; and red, required for the transformation to gold.” 

“Precisely. But what we haven’t determined is how that method corresponds to the Elixir of Life,” she murmured, turning to him. “I believe that’s where astronomy is vital.” 

He went stock still beneath her, hanging on her words. “How so?”

She sat upright, balancing the book between them. “Look here. Flamel notes, ‘Philosophers should be commenced in the time of the Sun in Capricorn the former house of Saturn.’ For grounding, we’ll have to follow the sun—through it, all things are born,” she reminded him. Finger tracing along the page, she continued, “'The Black stage, or Head of the Crow, comes on in about forty days in Aquarius, the other house of Saturn: Sol coming into Pisces, the Blackness deepens: Sol entering Aries, the separation occurs: Cancer brings on the Whiteness because Luna reigns in White majesty in her house. In Leo, the work of Sol begins; and the glory of Redness is attained in Libra; Scorpio follows, and Sagittarius completes the Work in Jupiter's own dominion.’”

“It’s a solar cycle,” Horace whispered, recognition evident in his tone. “In order to successfully create the Elixir of Life, one must follow the cycle of the sun diligently.” 

She nodded, a brilliant smile lighting her face. “That’s our thesis.”

Suddenly, Horace rocketed upright, hauling her with him and spinning her in a circle with a joyous whoop. When he settled her on her feet, she leaned into him, cheeks sore from the vibrancy of her joy. “What?” she whispered, suddenly shy in the face of his affection.

A moment suspended between them as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the pads of his fingers brushing over her skin. “You’re incredible.”

He closed the space between them carefully, almost as though he was afraid he’d scare her away.

It was a precipice she would give anything to fling herself wholly over if only at the bottom of which he would always catch her. 

Slotting herself into the empty spaces of his body, Rolanda tipped up onto her toes, meeting him halfway to ghost her lips over his once before pouring everything she’d been unable to speak aloud into the embrace, losing herself in him.

Rolanda felt like starlight and fire wrapped tightly in his careful hold, liable to combust should he push her just right. 

When he pulled away, they were both breathless. 

Perhaps this was what it would feel like to fly among the heavens.

“You are my star,” he whispered, ducking in to press another kiss to her lips before she pulled away, throwing a leg over her broom lest she drag him down to the blanket again not to emerge for the rest of the evening.

Rolanda laughed, his declaration igniting a fire in her. His eyes twinkled as she spun away, her reminder floating down to him as the sun set over the castle. “No, darling, I am the sun.” 

* * *

“I fear death,” Rolanda blurted into the silence of the library. Perhaps it was the ambience of the low lamplight that spurred the confession, but she’d been warring with the truth of it for months. With a deep sigh, she set aside their essay, eyes blurring from the length of time she had spent poring over it for corrections. “It’s what started my fascination with astronomy first.”

Following suit, Horace pulled off his readers, lips pulling into a frown as he rubbed at his eyes. “Why astronomy?” 

A self-deprecating slipped through her parted lips. “There are Muggle theories that souls return to the universe when we pass; I fancied it, and I thought I might be able to find my sister’s if I learned enough.” A flush crawled up her cheeks. “It was a child’s fancy. When I began to fly, I realised just how far the stars were; in a way, studying astronomy is the closest I’ve managed to find myself to her.” 

Horace peered at her. “My mother was my idol.” He tapped his thumb rhythmically on the tabletop. “I suppose that’s why it appears as though I like to collect people; it hurts less than letting them close. I fear I’ll lose them.” The truth of the statement rocked her, and Rolanda grimaced her agreement before he continued. “She brewed potions to perfection, a love she instilled in me, but St. Mungo’s was always her love.” 

Rolanda flinched; her family’s view of his mother was so different than his, though that was no fault of his own. “Horace, I—”

“It’s okay.” He waved her guilt away. “I understand why your family feels the way it does about mine.” 

But Rolanda couldn’t shake the trepidation burrowing beneath her skin even as Horace resumed the remaining edits.

“And alchemy… I also understand that. It’s easy, I think, to seek answers beyond ourselves.” He tapped the parchment, watching it roll into a neat scroll between them. “I’m sorry, though. That my mother couldn’t save your sister.”

Silence fell between them before they bid one another good night. As she walked through the halls towards the common room, the distant trilling of the clock tower seemed to mark the time towards an end Rolanda couldn’t fathom. 

* * *

They were sitting together on a quilt, enjoying the reprieve of silence after the culmination of their final exams, when the Howler arrived.

It landed before her, its red tongue wagging preemptively with the enclosed admonishment. Dread was a lead weight in her stomach. 

Rolanda picked it up gingerly, as though it would bite her, and unfolded the flap. Immediately, it sprang to life.

 _Rolanda Vega Hooch, how many times have I told you that Hogwarts is strictly for education?_ Her father’s voice spewed venom, his disdain clear. Rolanda flinched away from it, but the Howler paid no mind, floating in midair before her as it delivered its ire _. Disgracing your family name with a Slughorn? Your sister would be ashamed of you_.

The rest of her father’s message was drowned out by the sudden, rushing roar in her ears.

Her _sister_. Gods, he accused her of blighting her sister’s memory, as though Horace could control the past or rectify an accident.

It had been an _accident_ , her sister’s magic just too volatile to be contained. 

_I’ve arranged a position for you with the Department of Magical Games and Sports training as a Quidditch referee in the United States contingent on your termination of contact with the Slughorn boy. This is non-negotiable should you wish to retain your access to the family crypt. The Portkey departs in the morning._

The Howler disintegrated into a ball of ash. 

Her father’s choice was clear: her sister… or Horace. 

Despair clung to her like a second skin, blanketing her body tightly as his hands wrapped around hers.

“Rolanda?”

“Hmm?” Her heart was somewhere in the vicinity of her feet, but she carefully extricated her hands and began to stack her supplies together: the book on alchemical theories she’d checked out so long ago, their shared astronomy text, followed by a fine sheath of parchment, her carefully folded star chart, and the eagle feather quill Horace had gifted her.

Carefully arranged according to size, like a nesting doll she could lock her emotions within if she bound them tightly enough. 

Tears shone in Horace’s gaze when she finally looked up. She drew in a steadying breath. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Go,” he said simply, squeezing her hands and making the decision for her. He smiled sadly. “I've always thought it fitting—your middle name. Vega. The goddess of the sky who loved the cowherd.” 

His parting words shattered her heart, whispered as they were into the falling evening: “It was an honour to be loved by you.”

* * *

Breath stuttering, Rolanda smiled absently, the memories of their youth together settling carefully with the last two years. When he returned to Hogwarts, they had fallen back together as though no time had passed at all.

And then the war had come and stolen from her the one thing she’d learned mattered.

Not astronomical or alchemical theories or eternal life.

Time. With Horace, with her students. Time to live and love… to heal. 

“Yours is the darkness of my soul’s return,” he whispered, his tears gliding freely down his cheeks.

She could see it, then, shimmering beyond him: a river wide enough to cross, but only once; there would be no return trip.

Perhaps her namesake hadn’t been so far off.

“You are my sun, my moon, and all of my stars,” Horace whispered into her hair as she slipped into stardust, eyes fluttering closed against hollow cheeks. 

Of all the ways Rolanda had envisioned death, she'd never imagined this.

**Author's Note:**

> Definition of alchemy taken from the _Dictionary of the History of Science,_ edited by William F. Bynum, E. Janet Browne, Roy Porter.  
> Notes on creating the Elixir of Life generously borrowed and manipulated from a book attributed to Nicolas Flamel and published in 1612 as _Livre des figures hiéroglyphiques_ and in London in 1624 as _Exposition of the Hieroglyphical Figures._  
>  Horace’s final line of dialogue is from an E.E. Cummings poem.


End file.
